7 Days of Sin
by ImaginaryInk
Summary: A story written to test the limits of the author, in which Bulma is kidnapped and locked up in a basement – handcuffed, maltreated, and intimately harassed. A story thoughtfully written, in which each day brings her a new kind of suffering as she mentally and physically fights to survive this gruesome ordeal. A story written not by me.
1. Day 1: Abduction

**A/N: This fic was created to familiarise myself with writing once again. I am a little rusty around the edges now, after such a long hiatus, but I'm glad to be back.**

**Warning: Graphic contents and harsh language. Anyone who knew my story conceptualisation and style would know that I toy around with the mind. For those who don't, do expect plenty of mind games, reverse psychology, and unexpected outcomes. Stay on your toes.**

**I have gone and pushed my limits (plot wise) with this fic. It isn't your typical BV. It can be a little disturbing, so, don't hate me.**

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><p><span><strong>Day 1: Abduction<strong>

Her eyelids fluttered open, behind which hid a pair of dazed blue eyes, a pair of pupils dilating and adjusting themselves against the pitch black darkness that surrounded her. She tried moving, only being able to lift a weak arm, aiming to rub the sore spot throbbing on her temple.

The sound of tinkling metal resonated in the air, and she found herself unable to shift her arm any further than her neck. Still in a muddled state of mind, she strained her neck to see what had had her in restraint.

'_Handcuffs?'_

She grimaced, her lips frowning as hard as her brows, as she pushed herself up. A jolt of pain zapped her from the spine and to the base of her head, eliciting a hiss through her teeth. In her dishevelled, disorientated state of mind and body, she looked down at herself.

'_Fully clothed.'_ A brief relief quickly washed over her.

She began looking around, squinting her eyes through every nook and corner, every light and shadow. It seemed as though she was in a basement of some sort. A well-equipped one, too, with a bed, window, bathroom, and small kitchen.

A door opened, the groan of steel was heard as though someone had pulled on a lever, and she quickly resumed her previous position. Stiffened and more alert, she feigned unconsciousness, hoping and praying whoever it was would leave her alone.

Her eyes were closed and at ease, but her heart was thumping hard in a desperate call for help. The person drew closer to the bed on which she lain, the footsteps filled with intent, the pace slow and calculated, stopping short of a few inches from her.

It was a man; that much she could tell. His aura was dominant; so overpowering that she felt herself unable to breathe. And if breathing was difficult, staying calm would be a feat.

The man was silent as he remained where he was. She could sense his overwhelming presence; she could hear his subtle respiration. But the fact that he was as still as she was trying to be, made her anxious and curious. The urge to see his face was strong, but the consequences anticipating that action threw her off, sending her into another state of desperation.

'_Waiting it out would be ideal'_ she thought decidedly but soon regretted it when the empty side of the mattress sank down. The man had taken a seat so dangerously close to her till she could feel his warmth.

'_Please don't touch me, please don't touch me, please don't…'_

The chant continued on loudly in her head, but it could not stop the man's fingertips from feathering the contours of her hand; from the fingers to the curve of her shoulder. There was a pregnant pause before he resumed his perverted antic, twirling a lock of blue hair with his fingers and then raising those soft, silky strands to his face.

He sniffed her hair, slowly… _sensually_.

She heard him sigh ever-so-lightly, and swore that her life had been sucked out of her along with the breath he took.

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><p><strong>AN: Alright. Please don't flame me. The setting pretty much shows the kind of situation Bulma had gotten herself in, and what is in store for her. I know it's a bold move to be writing such a genre. But I can't help it. This must be written.**

**However, things can and will only get more disturbing. So, please don't hate me for it! I love you all? *grin***


	2. Day 2: Obsession

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, faves, and follows, guys! Here's the next chapter. Things are beginning to get interesting. And disturbing. Though, I would hope for you to read until the end.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><span><strong>Day 2: Obsession<strong>

"I know you're awake."

Eyelids flew open to reveal a pair of blue eyes, wide and alert. They followed the sound of the voice and fell on the face of the man from the night prior.

Complementing the suave coarseness that laced his voice was a hardened face, one with a defined widow's peak and high forehead. Winged brows accentuated his dark eyes, making his gaze fierce and calculating. He had a sharp nose, which pointed tip led one's eyes to his shapely lips.

He was a fine looking one. Can such a man resort to kidnapping?

Under the dim light which illuminated the vast, nearly empty room, she finally took in the appearance of the man who abducted her. His face was not of one to be forgotten so easily. If anything, for her, it would be impossible.

For one, he was devilishly handsome; dangerously charming.

And two, _she knew him_.

His lips curled up at the corner, forming a smirk to go with the undefinable glimmer set in his ebony eyes. She could not tear her gaze away. He stood up and approached her, getting up onto the bed; crawling towards her; towering over her.

He stared down at her face, his eyes devouring her features at an up-close range; remembering every crease, every outline; taking in every breath she exhaled, imprinting her scent into the deepest recesses of his mind.

'_Beautiful'_, he mused.

Slowly, he unbuttoned his black dress shirt but did not shrug it off, unveiling beneath what little sight of the sculpted pectoral and abdominal muscles that made him so painfully appealing. And she knew this, the familiar allure for him which she had harboured for such a long time rising and heating up and pooling in the pits of her stomach. But not like this.

His hands worked the binds above her, and without even needing to look, she knew he had unlocked the cuff that was latched on to the bed post. In the next second, followed by the closing zipping of the cuff, he replaced them with his own fingers. She whipped her head to the side and, wide-eyed and confused, found herself pinned beneath him, bound to him.

They shared a look. One of _terror_ and the other, _anticipation_.

He leaned down to her face and feathered his lips against her temple, her cheek, her jaw… she recoiled from his touches.

"H-hey, Veg Head," she called out the nickname she reserved for him in a trembling voice. "Stop this… it's not funny."

There was a minute pause in between his administrations, one that wasn't long enough for her to realise that he had hesitated the slightest bit. But he would not stop. He ignored her plea simply on the merit of her not calling him by his name.

"_Vegeta_."

Silence permeated the air. He halted in his tracks, hovering at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. He glanced up at her and, with intense eyes, waited for the words to follow. Her skin was soft, but it trembled under his touch, under his penetrating gaze. Her eyes – coated with natural moisture – were glistening with tears. Her lips – coral, plump, and utterly kissable – quivered with fear.

"Why are you doing this?" she breathed out.

Time stopped. The air stilled. Hearts pounded.

'_Why?' _he thought, "Because… I _want_ you. _Bulma_."

He leaned down and captured her lips in a fervent kiss. In the midst of this forced passion mixed with fear, Bulma daringly bit down onto his bottom lip, garnering a growl from the rugged man above.

Blood was spilled, splattering against the cold, grey tiles in large droplets as Vegeta spat onto the floor. His eyes were shadowed as he licked the open wound on his lower lip. Slowly, a sardonic smile crept to his face, and as a flash of light gleamed in his eye, he backhanded her face.

A high-pitched yelp echoed in the room and all became silent. Apathetically, Vegeta cupped her face with force, yanking her towards him as he growled at her.

"If my answer wasn't satisfactory, then you shouldn't have asked for one, am I right?" he shook her, his face burning with rage, "But think about it. Had I told you that I want you like a normal person would, you'd have laughed at my face."

"N-no-"

"Lies," he scoffed, releasing her cheeks to stroke her hair, a smirk forming on his lips, "It's just like you, isn't it? I've been watching you for the longest time. You're so self-absorbed, so entitled, so arrogant. But…" he leaned down to her ear and whispered, "I'd still want you."

He sucked on her earlobe, "I'll cherish you. Treasure every inch of you."

Along with his hands, his kisses travelled, feathering and pecking on the areas which he began to list, "Your eyes."

He trailed downwards, and with every touch, she recoiled even more, whimpering and trembling in both fear and disgust. He breathed out, "Your cute button nose."

"… Your lips," he ended, crushing his mouth onto hers, smothering her as he devoured her. She mewled and struggled in protest, but found that he had pinned her down. His tongue invaded her mouth, his teeth tearing her flesh, his lips kissing the wounds he'd inflicted.

He took her that night, over and over, until he was certain that her body had learned to accept his. To him, she was the light that lit up the pits of his blackened soul. To her, he was the darkness that consumed everything she thought she was.

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><p><strong>PS: Oh, just so you know, the hint of lemon in this fic is not strong.**


	3. Day 3: Deception

**Day 3: Deception**

He laid absolutely still on top of her, quivering from the remnants of his latest release. Droplets of sweat rolled down his face, dripping from his nose and chin, and disappearing into her hair. Pleasured and spent and having regulated his breathing, Vegeta remained where he was, but not without licking her tears and leaving a trail of soft kisses on her cheek, neck, shoulder, and back.

Bulma was on her stomach, eyes glassy and empty, as she tried to wrap her mind around the situation she was in. _'How did I get myself into this? Was it my fault? Did I tempt him?'_

She remembered going out for drinks, partying up the night as she usually did every Friday. The same routine with the same company. She remembered Vegeta being there, amongst the crowd of friends they usually hung out with – Goku, Chi Chi, Krillin, Marron, even the hopeless and sad excuse for a human being scar-faced ex-boyfriend who would happily trail behind her like a lovesick diseased dog. They'd go to the club, they'd drink, and they'd leave. Their weekly routine had never changed.

But somehow, _he did_.

That night, he had stared at her, never taking his eyes off of her, yet never saying a word. She'd dance, and he'd watch, basking in the way her body swayed to the music. She'd drink, and he'd feast his eyes on her throat as she swallowed. She'd look him in the eye, and he'd return her gaze in a worldly yet haunting silence amid the loud and fervent atmosphere.

His eyes in which lust and wanton hid conveyed a strong sense of determination that she could not ignore. A cheap thrill rode down her spine, frightening her yet exciting her, finding him so much more appealing than she normally did. No matter how hard she tried, she could not look away because that night, he was _different_.

Her only mistake was luring him onto the dance floor and sharing a lusty kiss that should not harbour any meaning at all.

"You're all sweaty," he murmured softly, snapping her out of her sorry reverie. Now sitting upright on the bedside, he caressed the curve of her back, cajoling her in a quiet, soothing voice. "Come," he said as her released the cuffs from her hand, pulling her delicate, tender body into his strong arms and carried her to the bathroom. "A bath and a little pampering for you would be nice."

He'd scrubbed her clean, washed her hair, and been mindful of her wounds. Under that cold, running water, she shivered but he knew she'd been crying and yet didn't say a word to her. He had her dressed in a black oversized t-shirt that reached her mid-thighs, leaving her lower body bare and to the betterment of his imagination.

'_How many days has it been since that night?'_ she questioned herself, eyes following his movements as he cuffed her hands to the bed post once more before preparing himself to head out. He had unlocked the high-secured exit and was about to step out the door when suddenly the sound of her voice echoed softly but travelled clearly into his ears.

"Aren't we friends…" said Bulma quietly, a statement rather than a question, though the meaning behind it spoke a greater volume, conveying the untold words of betrayal.

A moment's pause flitted across the room. He'd heard her. He'd understood her. He'd hesitated, but in the end, he turned the lights off, locked the door, and left only the silence of his shadow for her to confront.

Normally, he'd return after an hour or two. Her eyes closed as she willed herself to succumb to a deep, emotionless slumber. She wondered how long he'd be gone this time. She wondered if he'd return at all. She wondered if she'd ever wake up from this nightmare.

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><p><strong>What is scarier than an evil Vegeta?<strong>

**A nice Vegeta.**


	4. Day 4: Violation

**Day 4: Violation**

Today, he was gentler than usual, though the fervour in his movements could still be felt with every thrust he made, turning pain into pleasure, and ultimately, lust into something more. His touches were kinder and caresses were fonder.

Today, he was patient, tending to her need before his, pleasing her and making her scream till her throat parched and voice croaked.

Bulma tried to recall the exact moment when she had caved in to the desire his fingers induced. And whenever she thought she remembered, her body would convulse and transcend to the highest peak, only to crash back down in an unspoken, voiceless ecstasy.

There she laid spent, motionless, and utterly speechless, breaking his track record of making her come twelve consecutive times in a single session. It frightened her that he knew exactly where to touch to elicit those calls of passion.

'_Is it day… or is it night?'_

Bulma wondered as she sat by the bedside staring blankly at the floor, her feet dangling and hovering an inch from the carpet. Vegeta was different today. He didn't even cuff her to the bed like he usually did. He even surprised her by bathing her first, before proceeding to shower on his own thereafter. The running water in the bathroom was cut short, drawing her attention to the closed lavatory door. She held her breath for a minute or two to pick up the sounds he would make. Any minute now and he would emerge from that door, wet and half naked, as usual.

And then he would get dressed and head out. As usual.

Her face burned a light pink. She bit her bottom lip as she watched him tie his shoelaces, how nimble his fingers were as they looped one string over the other. Of course, she knew they had to be lithe considering the way he gave her the needed extra dose of pleasure while pounding her from behind, further driving her past the peak of her climax with a simple massage on the clitoris.

The familiar sound of the metal door groaning snapped her back to reality. He was gone. She was alone. The only sound resonating in the wake of his shadow was the beating of her racing heart. Her fingers clutched the bed sheets tightly. Her eyes glued to the exit as though anticipating his return. Her dry throat took in a gulp as if that single action could swallow away her fear.

This was it.

It was now or never.

Without another moment to lose, Bulma bolted from the bed and went to the nearest window. She drew open the curtain in a flash but couldn't be any more shocked to see that the window overlooked nothing but concrete. No wonder there was no sunlight. She closed the curtains and thought for a minute. At least now knew she was boxed in, which meant the only exit was the door through which she passed since that first night.

Her eyes flew to the main entrance, her feet moving on their own accordance as they brought her there.

She took a stand before the door and studied its making. A standard design, a simple doorknob. Despite all that, she knew that the security system which Vegeta had installed was neither standard nor simple. No. He knew Bulma too well to be careless. He knew an average lock would not hold the scientist in.

Her brows furrowed deeply, complementing the frown on her lips and narrowing of her eyes.

'_I will not be contained.'_

She may not have the tools to break down this door, but she definitely had the ability to break it apart. She didn't need brute strength but only the strength of her intellect and will. The idea of tackling a foreign mechanism of which she'd never seen before didn't even worry her in the slightest. With a blunt pin she had found lying around and technical know-how, all it took for her to disassemble the lock from the inside was an odd 30-minute job.

Or so she thought it was an odd 30-minute job.

Without a clock or sense of time, Bulma was not aware that her little scheme took a little over an hour, having buried all her concentration into dismantling the lock. After a few more tweaks and tinkering, the door finally clicked, and she beamed with a sense of hope and liberation. The door slid open to reveal a small walkway, through which led her to a vault door of some sort fitted with a combination and hand wheel locks. She figured that was where the groaning metal sound came from. However, that revelation was the least of her problems.

'_A sequence… what's the sequence?!'_

Her mind rambled for an answer, a way out. Breaking apart a lock was easy, but deciphering a code? The possibility of nailing the right combination was 9999 to one. However, before she could even conjure up a contingency plan, the familiar sound of groaning metal resonated in the tiny confinement from the other side, only this time, it was as loud and clear as an oncoming truck that was about to run her over.

Bulma stood there motionlessly, her feet rooted to the floor as she contemplated running back inside, or running forward. The hand wheel lock rotated and the door creaked open slowly and before she could make sense of the things running in her chaotic mind, the familiar face of Vegeta emerged from behind the only exit of the room.

Time hung awkwardly between them, neither one speaking nor moving as their gazes locked. Puzzled, surprised, frightened, shocked, confused…

Vegeta was the first to react, eyes glancing at the door behind her and then back to her, his mind connecting the dots. His brows furrowed, his lips frowned. The bag containing food fell to the floor and the man advanced on her.

Bulma's eyes widened and lips parted in a voiceless plea. The last thing she saw was Vegeta's furious face, his arm reaching out to her neck.


	5. Day 5: Submission

**Day 5: Submission**

In the night prior, her cries echoed within the 370 sq. ft. basement, gradually turning into soft sobs which resonated sombrely against the walls. They travelled to his ears, filling his mind with whimpers that translated into immense pain, sorrow, and hopelessness.

However, these emotions never reached his heart.

Vegeta lounged lazily by the two-seater couch not too far from the bed on which Bulma laid. Curled into a foetal position throughout the night and well into the late afternoon, the girl had never left nor moved. It wasn't as though she had much of a choice for the man had her chained to the bedpost. He couldn't have her escaping his grasp another time.

He stayed still, the ticking of the microwave humming dully in the background, as he waited for her food to warm up. '_She must be hungry'_, he casually thought, never actually considering the fact that food was the furthest thing from her mind. Regardless, he had to sustain her; to keep her alive.

Because he _still_ wanted her.

The quiet 'ding' of the microwave resounded in the far off corner of the room and Vegeta stoically got up to retrieve the meal. He returned to Bulma's side and took a seat on the bed, uncharacteristically waking her up with a gentle nudge on the arm.

Unbeknownst to him, the woman had already awakened long before the food was ready. In all actuality, she never slept. Disturbed but not jolted, Bulma gingerly pushed herself up and stared at her captor, her body coiling into an act of defence as she hauntingly scooted away from him, as far as the cuff allowed her.

"Don't be afraid," Vegeta murmured, shifting closer to her on the double-sized mattress and holding up a sandwich to her mouth. "Eat."

She turned away, unable to speak, unable to eat. Her neck was bruised, her lips were swollen, her throat was sore, her vocal cord was spent.

Vegeta frowned and, quietly tolerating her defiance, set the plate of sandwiches on the bedside table. He reached out for her in an attempt to comfort her, but she swatted his hand away. Rage flashed within him and he snapped, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her towards him. She struggled against him in a voiceless protest.

"Don't _disobey_ me," he snarled, straddling her and pinning her down flat on her back. He leaned down next to her face, practically attaching his cheek to hers. "You _can't_ run away from me. Therefore, you _can't_ turn away from me," he growled, "It's not even a suggestion, Bulma. I'm telling you, that without my permission, you simply _cannot_."

"I won't. I won't run. Don't hurt me," Bulma pleaded brokenly, her voice cracking from forcefully projecting her words, "… please."

He glared down at her angrily, his eyes piercing through her tear-sodden ones filled with terror, nostrils flaring furiously.

"I won't," she shook her head, eyes clenched and voice almost inaudible, "Please… Vegeta."

Upon hearing his name rolling off her tongue, his eyes widened for a second before softening into a look of almost pity. As quickly as that expression graced his face, it was gone, replaced by an unusual smile. He leaned close to her.

"Of course I won't hurt you," he whispered into her ear in an eerie chant as though mocking her, sending all sorts of chills down her spine, "I won't. I won't…"

He kissed her sore cheek, trailing his pecks down to her bruised neck – _"I won't…"_ – his lips crafting a familiar path down her collarbone, the valley of her breasts, her nipples.

Ignoring her light struggling and hesitant moans, Vegeta carried on without much thought, making sure that she'd succumb to his caresses, and in time, accept and believe in him. He would show her that he could be gentle and affectionate. He would show her that she belonged here and nowhere else. He would show her that she was dead wrong about him.

"I'll prove it to you, Bulma. You will be loved."


	6. Day 6: Possession

**Day 6: Possession**

Each time Bulma got a shut-eye, she would succumb to a bout of dreamless slumber, wishing that this was all a nightmare; that she'd wake up to the familiar sight of her lilac-themed room and aroma of her mother's signature strawberry pancakes.

But each morning, she'd wake up to the studio of hell, enveloped in a sinister aura emanated from a deranged man. It was like a scene out of a typical psychological thriller.

However, this time she woke up to the smell of something warm and lightly sweet, encompassing a strong base note of melted butter, mixed with a middle note of strawberries and top note of maple syrup.

"Breakfast," the quiet, coarse voice of her captor greeted her, along with the tantalising whiff of food. "… in bed." Vegeta laid the bed tray over her knees as she pushed herself upright. Looking upon her offering, this was possibly the best one she'd had in days.

'_It must be morning_', thought Bulma. She glanced at him with an inquisitive stare, and then back at her food. There were toasts, a glass of juice, and as she had expected, strawberry pancakes drowning in syrup. The food looked so tantalising, and yet, her desire to indulge could not be found.

Not unless the man, once again, _beat_ it into her.

Unwilling to go through that again, Bulma gingerly picked up the knife, scooped up a chunk of butter and smothered it all over her toast, followed by the pancakes. If she was forced to indulge, she figured she'd might as well enjoy her meal to the very end. And so with a soft word of thanks, she ate quietly, while Vegeta observed her in equal silence.

A slight purse of the lips as she chewed, leaving a subtle hint of sweet syrup glazed upon them. He swallowed dryly, but allowed his eyes to indulge further. The blue of her lashes caressed the delicate skin beneath her eyes whenever she blinked. He listened closely, almost picking up the beatings of her pulsating heart, where in fact they were his, as the sound of cutleries clinked against the porcelain plate in the background like the subtle rustle of leaves in the wind.

Bulma laid the cutleries down and, snapping Vegeta out of his midday dream, pushed the bed tray away, an indication that she was done with breakfast. Her head hung low, arms resting languidly in front of her, wrists still in shackles. Her fingers fidgeted ever so slightly, garnering the man's acute attention. Vegeta eyed her with care, and for some reason, thought that she must want something. The toilet perhaps? He scooted over to her and questioned her with his piercing gaze.

Her meek voice rolled off her tongue, her crystal blue irises glanced up at him. She raised the shackles a little and winced, ignoring the clinking sound they made as she moved. "I don't want to be chained up like an animal."

He paused. A frown crept on his handsome face and with cautious assumption, he wordlessly unchained her, removing the shackles from her wrists and throwing them aside. They fell hard on the floor in the corner of the room, quickly forgotten.

"You're not an animal," he said, leaning close and breathing into her ear, "Anything else I can do to _please_ you?"

He rubbed her arms slowly, up and down, drawing in a deep breath as he did so, inhaling her womanly scent; her fear. It excited him to feel her tense beneath his touches. It made him happy to know that he was the only one who could garner such reactions from her. He kissed her neck, nibbling on the soft, salty skin as he gently pushed her flat on her back. '_Her wounds… they healed very nicely,_' he thought. She whimpered like a cornered little kitten. It made him want and love her more.

"I… I want to see _Goku_."

In an instant, his administrations came to a halt; the air stilled; their breaths held; her heart pounded like the tribal beatings of the drum, calling for help.

When he had asked how else he could please her, the kindest face appeared in her head. The face of her best friend, Son Goku, was the only thing that came to mind.

Vegeta sneered with disgust as he thought about that bumbling, jovial, all-brawn-and-no-brain idiot. He moved away from her as though she burned him, and sat quietly at the foot of the bed as he seethed in anger.

Anger boiled and turned into fury; and fury turned into rage; a rage fuelled by an undefinable sentiment called '_jealousy'_.

Without warning, he smacked the bed tray away, sending it and the things it carried crashing into the nearest wall. Bulma yelped and tried to get away, but Vegeta was too fast. He managed to grab her wrists and, amidst her screaming protests and violent struggles, pinned the woman down. He glared at her, lips scowling in respond to the foulest mood he had ever been, and snarled.

"There are things which you can say to me, and things which you cannot," he spat, cupping her face and patting it none too gently, "It's time you learn the difference."

"N-no, get away!" she shrieked, shoving a palm to his face as she pushed him away. Needless to say, he overpowered her.

Restraining her once again, Vegeta put most of his weight on her, locking her in place beneath his colossal mass. She continued to resist him, and he continued to restrain her until she worn herself out. Cries became sobs and sobs became whimpers, and gradually, became quiet hiccups. Her eyes and nose red from crying – a sight which tugged at the most obscure corner of Vegeta's hollow heart. He decided to comfort her. There were other ways to teach someone a lesson.

"I said I wouldn't hurt you, didn't I?" he stroke her cheek tenderly, lids half closed as he gazed into her eyes, his expression softening upon seeing her pitiful face, "… So _don't_ make me."

Slowly, he got off of her and stood up, folding his arms as he frowned at the mess of a breakfast. "Tch," he clicked his tongue before looking back at her to reprimand, "Now, look what _you've_ done."

He blamed her. It was _her_ fault for making him do this. _She_ had angered him.

Had she mentioned Chi Chi instead, would she still have gotten a beating...?

Bulma wondered thoughtlessly as she sat up and took in what he said in silence, her teary gaze alternating between him and the overturned tray; the spilt juice; the syrup-stained carpet; the broken plate's porcelain shards; the knife.

She backed herself up against the bedpost as Vegeta advanced towards her once more. He reached out for her and pulled her face to his, his dark eyes piercing into her wide limpid blue ones. "Don't worry about it," he cajoled sweetly, "What it needs is a good clean-up job, no one will even notice that anything has been spilt."

Bulma trembling under his grasp put a smirk on his face, "Now you be a good girl and don't go anywhere." He released her and headed towards the exit, "I'll be back with a broom and a clean cloth."

He had gone upstairs, his absence allowing Bulma a fleeting sense of liberation and space to finally breathe. Carefully, she pushed herself off the bed and stood before the mess which _she_ made. She estimated it would take another minute or two before he returned. It was within this time frame where she had to make a choice – a choice that meant his life, in exchange for her freedom.


	7. Day 7: Liberation

**Day 7: Liberation**

"If people don't hold any regret in the choice they've made, that means they must have made the right one…" [1]

He swallowed dryly, eyes hollow and expression absent. "… But I did regret."

Vegeta had suddenly murmured those words as he sat slouching on the couch. Lazily, he turned to Bulma for a response, only to find her leaning on her side against the bedpost in her usual ghostly stance; with one wrist cuffed, her back to him and knees drawn up, her head resting on the rail. She looked like a broken doll, trapped in a ruined dollhouse. The urge to fix her was beckoning.

The dripping faucet from the bathroom echoed within the hollow of the room. It made the silence between them even more deafening. '_I don't like this Bulma,' _he inwardly concluded._ 'I don't like what she has become. I want her to…_,' he paused. Just exactly what did he want her to become? Instead of continuing his train of thought, he got up and took a seat behind her. He lightly traced his fingertips on her shoulder, moving along the curve of her spine until he felt her stiffen up. He paused, and she released an inaudible sigh.

He replaced his fingers with his lips, planting a sensual, full kiss on the softness of her skin. He nibbled on her shoulder and left wet trails of saliva on her neck before coming to a stop on her earlobe. He idled and hesitated for a second before pulling her into his arms. As much as his sudden, uncharacteristic gentleness confused Bulma, she wasn't about to complain. It was rare for him to display such tenderness. Would she dare say that it pained her to see him this vulnerable?

No. What was she thinking? A purse of her lips and an averted gaze showed her that Vegeta not hurting her _shouldn't_ make her feel anything.

"There is actually a second part to that statement," he murmured after a long while, carefully adjusting their positions so that she was lying on her back and looking up at him. "Want to hear it?"

If the silence before this didn't annoy him, her lack of response was certainly toying with his temper. He would draw her out of this mindless muse of hers, and so, caressed her cheek and brushed her fringe away. And as expected of her, she flinched. A small twitch of the head which made him smile lopsidedly as he buried his face in the nook of her neck.

"Even if people assume they've made the right choice, they will continuously wonder about the untaken path [2]," he started, whispering into her ear as though they were sweet words of love. "I was always watching you, having fallen for you for as long as I can remember. So I decided to wait; waited for you to realise that I was the only one worthy to be your equal. Sadly, that never happened," he pulled back, capturing what little attention she had left to give, "I told you that I regretted my decision, which is why…"

A smirk played on his lips and he dipped his head down again, kissing her temple and tracing his lips down to her ear. And he breathed out, "This, being here with you right now, _is the untaken path_."

Bulma's eyes widened and, upon hearing his sick words, struggled violently against him, the metal cuff on her wrist clanking against the metal of the bedpost. Vegeta pinned her down as he forced himself on her for the millionth time, kissing and caressing her all over, ignoring her frustrated sobs and cries.

He took her; from hours on end, unwilling to let her go. A strange, great sense of attachment towards this woman grew within him. She had been something forbidden to him, something which he never thought he could obtain had he not taken this path. And now that he had tasted her, he'd only wanted more.

"Bulma," her name slipped out of his lips like second nature. The familiarity of its sound rolling on his tongue drove his senses wild, blending perfectly with her quiet moans.

She could feel him reaching his limit, as his shaft would swell and his pace would quicken. She grasped his muscular arms and, sinking her nails into his flesh, braced for his release. She had to remain calm if she wanted to pull through this.

Moments later, he came, burying himself deep inside her and releasing everything he had yet another time before collapsing atop her frail body. She remained still as she calculated the number of deep breaths Vegeta was taking.

'_Ten… usually ten before his breathing starts to regulate_,' she inwardly reassured herself.

Fortunately for her, he only secured one of her hands. This carelessness on his part allowed her to slip her free hand into a concealed spot in the mattress to retrieve her weapon; the weapon which she managed to swipe the day before; the weapon which she would use to commit the gravest sin known to mankind.

'_There is no turning back_,' she mentally prepared herself and, while her hand trembled uncontrollably and in terror, pulled out a long porcelain shard, '_I'll take this path, and I'll not regret it._'

She focused on the tender and unprotected spot on his neck. Thankfully, his face was buried in the pillow next to her head. And so, without another moment's hesitation, she mustered the will in her arm to plunge. The first stab was all it took for her courage to spike even further, and before she knew it, strength returned to her side. Though her fingers clutched against the unrefined edges of the hardened clay, she could still feel the tip puncture the softness of his flesh, shocking Vegeta into a momentarily lapse of paralysis.

Now, driven by adrenaline and the fear of Vegeta getting back up and attacking her, Bulma's defence mechanism kicked in. She pulled the shard out, only to force it back into his skin another time, and another time, and another time. Her eyes became blurred with hot tears as they trickle down her face, but she could no longer tell if it was her tears or simply his blood coating her skin.

Vegeta grunted and, moaning in pain and possibly starting to lose consciousness, held Bulma down by her neck with all his might. Returning her sentiments and without further ado, he pulled the shard out of his neck, releasing a guttural sound as he did. His chest heaved and he wheezed with every ragged breath he took, his windpipe most likely broken and torn. His eyes were bloodshot red as he glared at the woman beneath him; the woman he never thought would betray him like this. And through those raging eyes, all he saw was an enemy that he should kill.

Shaken and frightened to her core, and unable to escape him, Bulma cried out as Vegeta plunged the shard into her chest. He yanked it out, unfeeling of the hotness of her blood spurting all over him, and stabbed her another time. But he was becoming weaker, no longer able to grasp onto the weapon, and simply let it slip out of his bloodied hand. Unconsciousness would soon consume him if he didn't stop his own bleeding.

Thus, no longer caring about the woman, he clumsily staggered down the bed and headed for the exit, groaning incoherently like a wounded beast. He clenched onto his open gashes to keep the bleeding at a minimal as he desperately stumbled forward. Help. He needed to get help. Bulma, being left winded and bleeding on the bed on her own, cried out to him in a voiceless plea.

'_Help me_,' was what she wanted to project, but the pain was much too unbearable for her to even breathe. She could see Vegeta stumbling as he dragged himself further away from her, leaving a trail of blood behind with every step he took; the stench of copper extremely overwhelming. She knew that he was losing too much blood, and she knew that he was dying.

Vegeta rounded the corner and somehow, with what little strength he had left, managed to open the metal vault door and climbed the staircase. He was choking on his own blood, getting lightheaded and weaker by the second, and every step upward felt like he was scaling a mountain.

Bulma watched him disappear from the room with an indescribable sense of dread and desperation, knowing full well that if he didn't make it alive, she wouldn't either. Hot tears streamed down her terrified face, even though she could barely feel anything else anymore. She remembered telling herself that she wouldn't regret piercing the shard into Vegeta, but never once expected herself to be at the receiving end of it, too.

And if she hadn't already regretted what she did, she most certainly would when Vegeta lost his balance along with his consciousness and tumbled backwards, falling off the stairs and further damaging his already wounded neck with a snap. His now lifeless, mangled body laid still at the doorway, head facing away from Bulma, as he exhaled his final breath.

Behind blurry blue eyes, Bulma helplessly watched as Vegeta's chest fell for the last time. All became silent and it felt as though time had come to an absolute stand still. The floor beneath his head became painted with blood expelled from the final pump of his exhausted and damaged artery. His body would soon turn blue. Her body, too, would soon turn into the same hue. That was the thought which tugged at the edges of Bulma's mind before it, along with her heart, became entirely filled with regret.

She blinked; her eyes now hollow. The pain had somehow transcended into a nice, numb sensation. She no longer needed to strain herself and gasp for air, for her weary body was now finally beginning to rest. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she told herself not to worry for sleep would do wonders to her body. Her chaotic mind no longer spun with dread or fear, but was filled with only the faces of the people she loved as they laughed with her in the peacefulness of her sanctuary.

Bulma closed her eyes and, releasing a breath of relief, dove into the safety net of darkness which gladly consumed her.

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><p><strong>[1] [2]<strong>** These statements are altered excerpts from their original passages found in Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun, quoting Yoshida Yūzan to Mizutani Shizuku.**

**Why the porcelain shard and not the knife that Bulma used to butter up her toast? It'd be too obvious. Vegeta would have noticed it immediately had it gone missing.**


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Why?"

Crystal blue eyes, both filled with an untold pain, blinked emptily as the entity to which they belonged asked in a soft, regretful voice; the sound fluttering through the air like a wistful, ruined whisper that harboured nothing but hurt and astonishment.

"Why must I die?" asked Bulma a second time as she took a seat by the foot of the king-sized bed. To say that she was astonished was an understatement. 'Dumbfounded' was perhaps the best word to describe her sentiments. "_7 Days of Sin_. Really? Geez. You can make a thriller out of this, Vegeta."

Behind her, lounging like a lazy house cat, was Vegeta, who popped open an eye to stare at the woman before him. He registered her presence and observed. His what-Earth-people-would-call _wife_ – though, he'd rather just call her _his woman_, or simply _Woman_, for that was what she was made of – was flipping through a bunch of papers and incessantly muttering to herself about something or nothing.

Judging from the direction things were going, a frown immediately graced the prince's handsome features. He closed his eyes once more and inwardly groaned._ 'Earth women. Conniving, deceiving, manipulative creatures.'_

Bulma finally whipped around and casually tossed the pencil she was holding and the rest of the papers down, taking no notice of them fluttering to the carpeted floor like shed feathers. "First abduction," she counted with her fingers, "Then rape, and then double homicide. You couldn't leave it with me killing you off, could you?"

Annoyed and feeling a vein twitch in his forehead, Vegeta scowled, turning to his side and showing her his back as he casually retorted, "Well, you did say it was my turn to come up with a role-play theme. That's what you get for shutting down the GR on me. Besides, it's your fault for changing the plot by including murder first. I simply improvised, so deal with it."

A scoff escaped her delicate, frowning lips, "Come to think about it, your idea of a role-play always revolves around sadomasochism. Can't you be a little more creative?"

At this, Vegeta turned around and gave her a stink eye, purposefully reminding her, "Creative? I killed you off, didn't I?"

Bulma's expression fell at his comeback. "That's not what I meant," she replied dryly, muttering bitterly under her breath as she glared at her alien husband.

The prince plopped back down onto the pillow and, closing his eyes and drawing in his hands to support his head, muttered with equal ennui, "There's still plenty of sex. Don't see what the problem is."

"We're finally going to be alone for seven whole days, without Trunks, in our private villa in the outskirts, and kidnapping is the best theme you can come up with?"

"Considering that I already refused to join you for a stroll in the woods or berry-picking or whatever it is you humans do in the backwater part of the planet, it's the perfect theme."

"Don't encourage yourself. I want something romantic for a change," Bulma suggested, her eyes beginning to gleam and her mind stretching the distance to that far, faraway land. "A fantasy filled with love and passion; like running away together to escape reality, winding up in a remote countryside where faces are unfamiliar. During winter, we would snuggle up by the fireplace in our quaint little cottage, and during fall, you would suggest to go horse-riding by the meadows until sunset. Sigh…"

"You want to ride a stallion, I have one for you down here."

"Shut up." A smack on his thigh was called for, and Bulma yelped in pain and retracted her hand as the attack hurt her more than it did him.

Letting out an irate huff, Vegeta sat up and rubbed his face, already tired of this aimless conversation, "Hey, you lowered my superior-self down to being a measly human. You even killed me off with a lowly porcelain shard. And nice try for slipping in the part where I was '_waiting for you to realise that I was the only one worthy to be your equal_', you inferior human."

"Said the guy who is going to roll down the basement stairs and die," Bulma argued.

Vegeta chuckled in the most condescending manner, and retorted without hesitation, "_You_ freaking stabbed me in the neck four times. If I'm made to die that easily, you'll have to die even easier. Don't question the order of nature, Woman."

Finally having had enough of this mindless topic, Bulma turned away with a huff, folding her arms and looking almost dejected. "I guess the whole kidnapping theme is fine but I question your sanity. Why does any of us have to die?" she wondered out loud, a small pout hanging off her bottom lip.

"Nobody really has to," Vegeta muttered quietly as he resumed his previous lazy position, his closed eyes and scowl a clear indication that it is pointless to carry on with the conversation. But when he received no response from her, he stole a glance and found her gazing back at him with soft eyes and a wistful smile.

"I married a psychopath," she said, her voice laced with a mashed up underlying tone of fondness and melancholy.

The prince gave her a long, quiet stare. He knew the true meaning behind the look she gave and the unspoken words which came with it. How could he blame her for accepting him and his past? He blinked and, looking away and resting his eyes once more, scoffed lightly.

"If you can come up with a happy ending for a kidnapping, go ahead. I'm still cuffing you to the bed."

And with that subtle submission of his, Bulma responded with a wide grin. However, instead of saying something, she gave him quick peck on the cheek and skipped out of the room like a teenager being granted a late night outing with her friends.

Vegeta peeked at her retreating form and frowned. Over the years, he had come to appreciate the woman who had stood beside him through thick and thin; the woman who gave him a home and a son; the woman who accepted his past, the person he was then, and the person he was today. Despite their constant bickering and disagreements, even he couldn't deny the fact that he was looking forward to their long-awaited holiday. Perhaps, after the crap the Androids and Cell had put them all through, he too, had learned to accept the woman he called his mate; the only one worthy to be his equal.

A smirk graced his sleepy features as he thought how he had outdone himself with their role-play theme this time. She was right about his violent nature and fascination with sadomasochism. She had always put up with that sort of intimacy because that was who and how he was – passionately destructive and aggressive. But he wouldn't deny Bulma a little romance this time around, if only to keep her off his back. He would think of it as his punishment for pledging his troth with an Earthling.

Speaking of Earthlings, the smirk turned into a wicked, amused lopsided grin as he recalled something else – even if it was a stupid themed script he had come up with, he would never miss the opportunity to devalue that scar-faced loser of a human [1] and Earth-raised third-class idiot [2].

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong>[1] <strong>**See Day 3: Deception.**

**[2]**** See Day 6: Possession.**

**Well, I did say that the story will get progressively worse. I mean, what could be worse than a husband kidnapping his own wife so that he could escape boring touristy activities and have sex with her all week long?**


End file.
